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“Etiquette?” Marco chuckles. “What the fuck is in that?”

I exhale in frustration, then open the envelope with a quick tear. I’m expecting a letter threatening my father, or perhapseven the contents of the envelope I gave Callum, but with shit all over them or something.

The papers I pull out, however, are the last thing I expected.

I hold a stack of photos in my hand, and the top one instantly has my complete attention.

It’s a shot of Ethan walking into the coffee shop on campus.

I push it to the side, looking at the next one.

Ethan going to class.

My fingers tighten on the pictures and my heart starts to race in my chest as I flip to the next one.

Me and Ethan in the parking lot at school. Then at his apartment lot.

I swallow the thickness in my throat.

That’s all there is, just pictures of him. No note, nothing circled, no outright threats.

“Who’s that?” Marco asks as he leans over to look.

My jaw tightens and I grit my teeth. “Ethan,” I reply coldly.

“They know about whatever’s going on between you,” he comments.

I nearly crush the pictures in my hand before letting them fall to my lap.

“No fucking shit,” I growl. “They’re threatening him. Motherfuckers.”

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Marco insists. “Is the guy really worth it?”

I toss the pictures and envelope at him. “They’re the ones doing something stupid!”

Marco lifts the photos and goes through them.

“This one is the most recent,” he comments, and holds it out for me to look at closer.

I almost brush him off, just wanting to go inside the warehouse and kick the shit out of someone.

Instead, I decide to look at what he’s pointing out.

The picture is Ethan walking away from his car. It’s sometime in the midmorning based on the sun, and the weather outside is colder and deader than in any of the other pictures, which means it’s more recent.

My eyes scan the background, and I see the front of several shops, their signs advertising specials for the day or week. They’re a bit muddled since the focus isn’t on them, but one of them mentions a special price on Saturdays.

I trace the picture slowly with my eyes.

“That special wasn’t there last week,” I mumble. “I’ve never gone in that store, but I’ve been to the café next to it.”

My eyebrows perk up. “This picture was taken today.” I toss the picture down and back the car out of the parking spot.

“What?” Marco asks.

“That picture was taken this morning. They didn’t just take the picture to show they’re following him; they took it to see if I’d catch on to the game they’re playing,” I snap out in a rush as I pull onto the road and speed up, causing the tires to squeal.

The car with the two guards quickly follows us, though they have no idea why.